


Taste

by beccastanz



Series: Becca’s Canonverse Fics [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bastardization of Canon, Canon Compliant - Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Canon Divergent, Come Eating, Come Sharing, Come Swallowing, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Masturbation, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Bond Sexual Situations (Star Wars), Force Bond Shenanigans (Star Wars), Inappropriate Use of the Force, Male Masturbation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Post-TLJ, The Force, The Force Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beccastanz/pseuds/beccastanz
Summary: He takes another bite, and asks, mouth full, “Do you like it?”She does. It’s dangerous how much.It’s dangerous how often she wonders what would’ve happened if she’d taken his hand.Hardcore Kinktober Challenge Day 4: Mutual Masturbation
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Becca’s Canonverse Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958131
Comments: 118
Kudos: 453
Collections: Pepsi and Pals' Hardcore Kinktober Challenge





	Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Just because I joined the fandom late doesn’t mean I can’t hop on the Post-TLJ Force bond smut train, right? 
> 
> Choose your own canon, folks!
> 
> Special thanks to [mads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsaialik/pseuds/madsaialik) for the beta AND the gorgeous edits! She’s an angel!

The bond is fickle, fleeting, connecting in moments indiscriminately. 

He is at the head of a long table, discussing strategy, flustered for an excuse to cease the meeting as his eyes lock with the scavenger. His face is hidden by that _blasted_ mask, and his voice comes through with static and depth, and Rey hates it, hates the fact that she wants to hear his true tone, warm and rich and naturally deep. She knows exactly what he looks like beneath his cover, lip trembling and brows furrowed and eyes widened. He’s shocked. 

The shock is mutual.

She is bathing in a creek on their hidden base, dark water up to her shoulders, and he stutters and averts his eyes and waits for the link to dissipate. 

Neither of them can control it. 

_Not yet._

The sentiment is shared, a desire for autonomy. Normalcy. 

But there is a new normal for them, now.

They can no longer touch, the fleeting graze of fingertips their only memory as animosity clouds the bond in the wake of Crait. Instead, they subsist only on glances for a stretch of time, reduced to a single one of the five senses. 

Then, sound returns. The gasp when he sees her in the creek, the hasty growl in his throat when she interrupts his planning session. These were the first indications of repair. Shock turns to acceptance, but each linkage starts with a stuttering breath, an uptick in their shared heartbeat, and a repressed craving to hear each other again. 

And then, to their surprise, comes taste.

It’s a day like any other; Rey is shoveling down a protein bar in preparation for her afternoon training session when she hears it.

A _retch._

She looks up to see the Supreme Leader, nose wrinkled in disgust, tongue smacking the roof of his mouth in obvious displeasure.

“What are you eating?” He prods.

“Why do you care?” She shoots back, grateful for the solitude of her quarters.

“It tastes foul,” he continues, like this is normal, like it’s not strange that all of a sudden he can taste what’s in her mouth.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” and she can’t help getting up, crossing the room, peering up at him with every bit of disgust and resentment she can muster, “are you so accustomed to freshly prepared meals, Supreme Leader? Can’t fathom what it’s like to eat for survival?”

He huffs.

“Don’t call me that,” he bites in tandem with a gloved fist tightening, the sound of creasing leather permeating the vast emptiness around them.

“Don’t call you what? Supreme Leader?” He huffs again, angrier as she combines her words with another scathing bite of protein bar that she now knows he can taste. “That’s what you are, isn’t it?” She’s on a roll now, a conversation left unhad even in their recent moments of connection. 

Odd that this is what brings them together. 

“You chose this, Supreme Leader _Kylo Ren.”_ She forces herself to spit out the name alongside a flurry of crumbs, no matter how much it pains her, no matter how much she craves a different taste, the taste of his true name on her lips. The name she desperately hoped he’d live up to.

“I didn’t choose this,” he growls. “You did.” His tone is dark and definitive, and she knows he believes what he’s saying in his bones.

“How on _Coruscant_ was this _my_ choice?”

They’ve both breathing heavily, and the protein bar tastes like ash in her mouth, and the weight between them is heavy and unyielding against the yearning they fight to suppress every waking moment.

“I offered you my hand. You rejected me. What did you _think would happen, Rey?”_

He’s trembling, and they’re so close, and she’s watching him pant but she can’t feel his breath, knows she can’t touch her fingers to his cheek to wipe away the errant tear she’s sure he hasn’t noticed.

She shudders, and the bond snaps, and she is left alone with a horrible taste in her mouth that has nothing to do with her meal.

————

Rey is meditating, secluded on base, not a soul for at least a mile.

She fortifies her mental walls, secures herself deeply to the Force.

And then the most delicious thing she’s ever tasted floods her tongue.

“What—”

She opens her eyes to a sheepish looking Kylo Ren, frozen with a purplish fruit pressed to his lips, juices dripping down his arm and neck and chest.

A very bare chest.

They gulp in sync.

She clears her throat, knows a request for him to cover up is futile.

Ever curious, she can’t help herself.

“What is that?” She asks, holding back a small moan as the taste continues to coat her tongue.

“Jogan fruit. You’ve never had it?” 

She shakes her head.

“I lived on portions and ration packs. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted fresh fruit before,” she whispers. It shouldn’t feel intimate; they are in each other’s heads, see each other’s greatest fears, but at this moment her admission makes her feel small. Unworldly. Incapable of accomplishing the task set out in front of her.

Save the galaxy.

And yet she’s barely experienced the galaxy she’s trying to save, and the enemy she’s trying to save it from has rivulets of purple juice traversing his torso that she wants to lick away.

She shakes her head, as if it will clear the treacherous thought from her brain, and she desperately hopes her walls are high enough that he cannot see.

He takes another bite, and asks, mouth full, “Do you like it?”

She does. It’s dangerous how much.

It’s dangerous how often she wonders what would’ve happened if she’d taken his hand.

She nods.

“You know,” he begins casually, sitting up in a way that makes his muscles ripple and has her biting her tongue to ground herself, “if you’d taken my hand, I could've shown you _everything._ Everything you missed.” He pauses, a meaningful stare thrown her way that she is wholly unprepared for. “Everything you deserve.”

She scoffs, but it comes out strained. She tries to recover.

“I deserve peace. Safety. Friendship.” 

She lists them like they’re enough.

“More,” he replies.

_They’re not enough._

The bond breaks, and she nearly sucks her own finger into her mouth in a futile effort to chase that sweet taste again.

————

The meetings continue on for weeks. Sometimes, it’s just sound, voices thrown in a pantomime of bitter banter, like they’re in some sort of fucked up play, lines scripted, no room to go off book, to improvise. To improvise would be to admit that they are anything other than sworn enemies.

Occasionally, at mealtimes, the taste of instant bread and gruel is drowned out by tender meat, seasoned vegetables, and the occasional sweet bite of fresh fruit.

It feels like a gift that she shouldn’t accept. But she can’t control it, so why refuse?

Sometimes he appears across the room, briefly, just long enough for her to see the dark circles, the clench of his fists, reflective despair in his eyes—it’s when she catches those irises that the bond ends, like she’s discovered something she’s not meant to see.

She is continually struck with the need to soothe, to trace the frown lines on his forehead with her thumb until they disappear.

He couldn’t make a fist if she took his hand.

————

They continue to catch each other in various states of undress.

The bond must have a sense of humor.

She’s seen him shirtless, and pantless, and on one memorable occasion in nothing but socks and his black arm guards, the broad expanse of his back and the tight globes of his ass glistening with sweat from what she assumes was a very intense training session.

She pretends she didn’t want him to turn around, like she didn’t crave it the moment she realized it was in her grasp.

The bond broke quickly that time. She wonders if he heard her sudden gasp. If he could feel the sharp zing of arousal as it flooded her bloodstream. 

He’s seen her almost entirely bare by now.

She’s in nothing but her breast band and plain underwear after a workout of her own. He averts his eyes, and she’s almost sure she saw him blush.

“Sorry.”

His whisper is so soft she almost wonders if it hadn’t been verbal at all, as if he’d pushed remorse through the bond until it took residence at the base of her skull.

“‘S fine,” she says aloud, clinging to a single sense of normalcy.

He must be having dinner if the sudden flood of warmth and spices in her mouth is any indication.

“Hungry after a day of terrorizing the galaxy?”

She’s beginning to think of the annoyed little noise he pushes out through his nose as _hers._

He turns back around as if to refute her statement, and it’s clear he’s forgotten her state of undress. He chokes on the bite in his mouth, and Rey rushes over to try and smack him on the back.

The bond is still damaged, and her hand gets an inch away from him before it simply stops midair, despite the force she threw into her arm in an attempt to help him.

He finally coughs, and now she is closer, and he is flustered for another moment before a cocky smirk replaces the trepidation.

“Did you just try to save me?”

She backs away, turns around, and it gives her enough time to form a response.

“The only way you’re allowed to die is by my hand,” she bites over her shoulder as she walks toward her bed. “I won’t let your demise be brought by a measly chunk of Bantha rump.”

He chuckles.

It’s melodic. 

And again, the bond ceases, leaving her alone with her thoughts and a familiar ache between her legs.

She takes her time removing her breast band, her underwear, reveling in the feeling of her own body. 

She used to rush this act, and sometimes she still does, but tonight is a rare night of quiet and she wants to make it last.

She tries not to dwell on the timing, on the fact that she can still practically feel his presence in her room, see the silky softness of his hair, the intensity of his stare as he took in her body.

Surely, it’s irrelevant.

Bare, the cool air hits her skin, pebbles her nipples before she slides beneath her sheets. She starts with them, pinching and rolling the flesh between her fingers until she’s panting, refusing to skate her hands lower until she’s made herself desperate.

She knows all about waiting.

Finally, once she can no longer resist the urge, she keeps one hand at her breast and moves the other to trace patterns against her stomach. The cover of the sheet provides an extra layer of teasing sensation against her legs, her arms as she moves lower to trail a finger down and up the insides of her thighs. She knows eventually the cover will be cloying, heavy, and she will kick it away as she teases herself to release, but for now, it builds sensation, a touch from something other than her own hands. It shifts with her, and she finally teases a single finger against the seam of her cunt.

_Fuck,_ she can feel the pool of wetness trickling out from her closed lips, and she gives in, separating them to feel herself drip with just how much she needs to be touched.

She’s wound herself up for so long that two fingers breach her entrance easily, and she immediately sighs with relief. She begins a slow thrust, teasing as she continues to worry a nipple between her fingers. It’s not enough to get off, but it’s plenty to rile her up. She alternates between fucking herself, stretching herself, and pulling out her fingers to trace lines of heat all over the lips of her cunt. She drives herself into a frenzy and steadfastly avoids her clit, the spot she knows will send her careening over the edge.

There’s so little in life she gets to savor, so she savors this, draws it out until she’s whining and panting, twisting beneath the sheet. She sinks a third finger into her dripping hole and howls with it, unhinged, wonders how many of his fingers it would take to fill her up like this, if he would curl them just right, if he would tease her or just go right for her clit and make her scream his name as he whispers hers, coaxing, dark and hot and desperate in her ear, _fuck_ she can practically hear his voice as she cries out, so close if she could just—

“Rey! Rey, are you hurt?”

She freezes, three fingers deep, still covered by the sheet, and turns her head to lock eyes with her enemy.

They make their separate realizations in unison.

He is here, and she is decidedly _not_ hurt.

She’s not sure exactly what comes over her, watching the fear in his eyes dissipate, replaced by what can only be described as lust, realizing the pain in his voice when he thought she was in danger.

She improvises.

The hand that was at her breast throws the sheet away, finally, fully exposing her.

The hand that was buried in her cunt is removed. She brings it toward her mouth and shoves three drenched fingers past her lips.

The noise that escapes him is inhuman, somewhere between a whimper, a groan, and a plea.

She’s never seen him reduced to such a state. The closest she can remember is when he offered her his hand, and she foolishly let him slip through her grasp.

She cannot take his hand now, but she can give him a taste.

She licks around the digits pressed against her tongue, slowly trailing against every rivulet of her own wetness as she maintains eye contact. Intimate. 

He falls to his knees beside the bed with a shudder.

_“ Rey.”_

He speaks her name like a prayer, like the shared taste of musk and sweat and salt is a salve on his very soul, like the flavor of her cunt outweighs the galaxy.

She keeps licking and watches the roll of his jaw as he savors the flavor against his tongue. He closes his eyes for a moment and nearly misses her journey to collect more wetness to share. She finds it, fresh and dripping between her thighs, and watches his hand twitch like he wants nothing more than to seek out her arousal himself.

Instead, he moves toward the rapidly hardening length beneath his underwear, and _oh,_ she had hardly noticed the expanse of flesh available to her eyes, too focused on his piercing gaze to realize the only thing between him and full nudity was a single scrap of fabric.

He shoves it down, and his cock springs free, huge and heavy against his abdomen.

He stays on his knees.

“Rey, please.”

And she knows what he’s asking as he spreads the beads of precum down his shaft. She coats her fingers again and brings them to her mouth as her other hand finds her cunt again, immediately sinking three fingers back into her welcoming heat. She moans with it, eyes closed, savoring the sensation as she builds herself back up to the peak.

She tastes herself at a languid pace this time, licks a single finger with the tip of her tongue, and opens her eyes to watch him fall apart, kneeling at her side, fisting his cock with unrelenting pressure. The sound of his tongue smacking the roof of his mouth is penetrative.

She pushes the second finger past her lips, more sweetly salty arousal as her orgasm gets closer.

His movements are becoming erratic, and she can tell he’s close, that he’s exercising every bit of restraint to wait.

It’s nearly gentlemanly, his patience.

So she finally shoves all three fingers in her mouth, and curls the three in her cunt, and presses the heel of her hand against her neglected clit, and she comes.

It’s the most intense orgasm of her life, and she twitches and writhes and shakes with it, and she’s distantly aware of a similar orgasm occurring barely a foot away. They’re both heaving with the intensity, and it seems to stretch on forever, and she’s struck with gladness for the fingers against her tongue, hoping they were enough to muffle her cries.

_Ben Ben Ben_

When it finally ends, she looks at him again, his flushed chest, aching knees, fist covered in his own release.

Neither of them can find a single word.

But she looks at his fingers, and then his mouth, and words aren’t necessary.

He pushes one cum-soaked digit past his own lips, and their tongues are graced with the taste of their combined spend, salty and thick and dangerous.

It’s all they have left when the bond separates them yet again.

————

He’s on his knees in his own quarters, covered in cum, mind reeling.

She moaned his name as she twitched—the name he wants to reclaim—the taste of herself on her own tongue, lovingly, generously shared.

He would raze the galaxy for a chance to taste her from the source.

It is this realization that sends him to Hux’s quarters that night. It’s almost too easy to subdue him, to watch the life leave his eyes a moment after he’s forced to unlock all of the First Order’s encrypted files. He sends everything there is to his mother, and to 3PO, and to R2, and to anyone else he can remember how to contact.

The Force aids him in a way it never has, fuels him as he cuts down every living thing that stands between him and salvation.

He leaves a fire in his wake, and lets instinct guide him.

He was a fool to let her slip away, to take on the mantle he never wanted.

He will go to her, and he will fall to his knees again.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m just gonna keep making up rules to serve my own smutty purposes until I am forced to stop. Let me know whatcha thought in the comments and/or on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/beccastanz)!


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